


DENTON

by Noel_Lee_A



Category: Rocky Horror Picture Show, The Rocky Horror Show - O'Brien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Changing Tenses, Deviates From Canon, Gen, Other, POV First Person, POV Original Character, Pre-Canon, Present Tense, Rocky Horror Picture Show References, Slow Build, Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24117631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noel_Lee_A/pseuds/Noel_Lee_A
Summary: When a young woman living in Denton stumbles upon an old castle hidden deep in the woods, her life takes an unexpected and surreal turn. Injured and alone, she has to navigate her way back home, but in her way is the peculiar Dr. Frank-N-Furter, who won't let her leave.Soon she realizes that the longer she stays, the harder it is for her to leave. She knows too much.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. There's a Light

**Author's Note:**

> Formatted for PC

**There’s a Light**

A few miles down the road from Denton is a place I've come to enjoy very much. It doesn't differ much from the dense woodland of looming oak trees that surrounds the paved road. This particular spot, as I've come to find, has one little difference that elevates it above all the other forest clearings peppered around the dense woods. This difference is a picturesque pond containing a plethora of childhood memories. It's where I ended up this evening, in early autumn, on a bike ride I hadn't planned on taking. Earlier I'd been sitting at my desk idly reading over a letter sent to me by my brother. It was a wedding invitation. I felt strange: happy yet bitter, slightly resentful about the fact that my brother has already made a life for himself, despite being three years younger. Quickly standing up, knocking down the chair I had been sitting on, I abandoned the letter on my desk to go outside to clear my head. It was only when my rusty old bike and I were halfway down the road heading out of Denton that I realized where I was going. 

When I finally made it to the road sign I had learned to use as a landmark, I rested my bike against one of the numerous oak trees, trusting that I'd find it there when I returned, before setting off towards the clearing. For too long, I'd been cooped up in that small apartment, only leaving for work or food. It had been almost a year since I last visited the clearing. It felt like I was aimlessly wandering through the woods for the first time, coming across things that have become almost foreign to me. Things like tracts of moss or fallen trees. The ground was wet from last night's rain. As I neared the pond, the puddles of mud became more problematic. The ground squelched under my weight, soaking my newly bought sneakers as I stubbornly continued forwards towards the edge of the pond. 

Here I was, standing ankle-deep in the mud in front of a pond. Most of the water had become covered by the fallen leaves, but it didn't matter much. I don't know what I aimed to accomplish by coming here. My conflict had dissipated long ago during the bike ride, yet I still came here. Maybe it was because I wanted to feel nostalgic. This place doesn't feel the same as it did back then, nor does it look the same. It's hard to imagine that this very pond is the same one in my memories. That one was much brighter, the water fairly clear, only a few green spring leaves floating on the surface. It was always spring when we visited. My brother and I would take our old bikes, which were around half the size of the ones we use today, and begin on our journey down the path towards the pond with our lunches packed by our worried mother, who would often warn us to look out for the cars that would occasionally drive down the road. I was around thirteen then. It's been twelve years since then. Now the pond is shrouded by shadows cast from the tall trees around it. 

I sat down on a nearby rock, tired and somewhat content, still able to see the pond from between the trees. Most of the light was gone, the sky blank as a thick veil of clouds passed in front of the rising moon. Time passed. The air reeked of fresh, cold petrichor, so much so that it felt evasive, almost uncharacteristically unpleasant. It was quickly becoming night. The woods felt dangerously silent. I found myself edging closer towards the lake, subconsciously scanning the dark woods around me for any small movement I could find, my ears attentively wading through the silence in the cautious search for any life other than myself. My eyes desperately tried to adjust to the darkness, hoping to see what's in the shadows, but to no avail. It was all disorienting. My only anchor was the lake. I had forgotten how dark these autumn nights could be when not surrounded by streetlamps. 

Once by the lake, I began making my way back towards the road. I crept around the trees to find another clearing, this one with level ground littered with roots. It was unfamiliar. I hadn't passed it on my way to the lake. Had I taken an accidental turn? Did the darkness disorient me enough to throw me off course? I was giving up hope when I stumbled across the road by sheer luck. The trees suddenly thinned as the cloudy night sky became visible above me again, now not obscured by the branches of the oak trees. The paved road felt heavenly in comparison to the saturated forest ground. The squelching, though, didn't end. With every step, I felt the mud that had soaked into my shoes move, letting out an uncomfortable noise and leaving a muddy shoe print behind. Looking around, I couldn't find the road sign or my bike, only the empty road stretching out seemingly endlessly both in front of me and behind me. Which way is Denton? 

The shadows themselves seemed to be awaiting my next move. One way would lead me back to Denton, where I'd be able to head home and forget about this endeavor entirely, and the other would lead further into the forest, where I'd only find more trees. My only hope, if I walked the wrong way, was to either realize my mistake and turn around, or hope a car would pass and offer help. I set off in a randomly chosen direction, each step more unsure than the last. The moon kept rising high above me, the thick veil of clouds eventually parting to allow moonlight to reach the path ahead of me. My feet burned with an ache that only increased with every step I took. Not only did my legs throb with pain, but they were cold too. The mud that had adhered to my sneakers dried and began to crack as the wind chilled it. I could almost see my breath in the air. 

When I neared a fork in the road, I knew I'd made the wrong decision. Both options in front of me only held more oak trees and the stifling silence I'd begun to dread. I would have done the smart thing and turned around, heading back towards Denton, now confident that the direction I was walking in was the correct one, if not for the distant light shining above the treetops. It was on the path leading to the right, and it didn't seem to be too far, only a fifteen-minute trek away. From here, the light shone like a second moon, illuminating both the sky and the trees around it. The path back to Denton was long, much longer now that I'd walked miles in the wrong direction. The light was like a beacon of hope reassuring my battered legs that they wouldn't have to walk much longer. If the light even had a chance of leading me to people, then I would follow it. 

The walk seemed much shorter than I expected. The trees passed by me in a flash as I limped down the path, fixated on finding the cause of the light. Every step was more painful than the last, a throbbing pain equal to stepping on hot coals pulsating up my legs before fading every time my sore feet hit the ground. Soon, I neared a large metallic gate, stumbling as I grasped onto it and pulled it open, disregarding the warning sign that hung in the middle. I looked up with hopeful eyes at the castle in front of me, its walls covered in vines and plants. A tower, covered in rectangular white brick lining, obscured the large polyhedral glass shape that housed the light. I could see numerous other lights shine through the windows of the castle, though never once did I see someone move inside. I neared the large front door without caution, desperate to find rest. 

If only I had turned back towards Denton. 


	2. A Cold Welcome

**A Cold Welcome**

I reach my hand out towards the doorbell. Stone statues depicting bird-like creatures with chains around their necks stand beside the door on both sides. I imagine they'd be much less imposing in the sunlight. I press the doorbell with my trembling hand, listening to the clanking noise it lets out. I step back, awaiting a response. I'm not sure if anyone inside would hear such a weak doorbell. My doubt is cut off by the door creaking open slowly, a figure skulking by it. He is tall, his back hunched, and noticeably rigid and had the kind of deadly stillness you could expect from a long-forgotten resident of a castle lost deep in the woods beyond where even the most determined hiker would wander. The isolation and seclusion of his life are somewhat disconcerting, yet absurdly intriguing. After a few years of solitude, the very concept of other people must begin to fade into a distant blur. His blonde hair, which has balded harshly in the middle, seems somewhat unkempt. Dark circles fall below his tired eyes, which survey me with disinterest. 

'Hello,' the man mutters in his nasal voice. He waits for me to speak, but my mouth only opens and closes as I struggle to utter a single word. 

'Hi,' I begin, 'I'm lost and cold, and-' 

'You're covered in mud,' states the man as he looks me up and down, tapping his spindly fingers against the wooden door. 

'Uh,' I hesitate, taken aback by his interruption. 'Yes, indeed. I ended up wandering through the woods before finding my way back onto an unfamiliar part of the path. I was wondering if I could maybe rest here for a while before starting down the path again."

The man moves to open the door wider. 

'I think you'd better come inside," he says as he gestures for me to enter.

As I step inside, I'm met by a small vestibule with nothing but a tall and intricate wooden door that towers at the same size as the front door. Windows with intricate metal and gold details stretch up the door, letting in some of the light from beyond the door. I gingerly push open the second door as the hunch-backed man shuts the front door. It's not much warmer in here than it is outside, but it's definitely much dryer. The interior is exactly what you'd expect from an old castle; everything is gothic and old. Beyond the curtains framing the doorway is a fairly small but towering room. Ornately carved wood beams hold up the equally ornate railings of the staircase, some beams having spherical lights resembling street lamps lighting the room. Beneath the staircase are double doors that heavily resemble the doors I just passed through with their tall rectangular stained-glass windows, these being much smaller in size. Spiderwebs stretch across almost every space they can, occupying the space between the metal balusters underneath the railing. The wallpaper is old and chipped. If I hadn't been greeted by this strange man, I could easily believe this place to be abandoned. 

I hear the man enter into the room, closing the door behind him. 

'We weren't expecting company here. You've arrived at a rather unlikely time,' he says as he walks ahead of me. 

'I hadn't planned on visiting. I wasn't even aware a place like this was near Denton,' I tell him unsurely, my voice unstable from the cold. 

'Come, the guest rooms are this way,' he says, disregarding my comments. 

I follow after him, climbing up the carpeted stairs. The man, whose name remains a mystery to me, leads silently. 

'Do you live here alone?' I ask him, breaking the silence once more in hopes of finding some answers. 

'No,' he answers firmly. 'I am simply a servant to the master.' 

'And is the master alright with me staying here? I only intend to stay the night. I can be gone by sunrise,' I ask, hoping my stay won't cause any complications within this allusive master's everyday life.

'I'm sure the master will be more than welcoming," he replies curtly, making it clear that the conversation will not progress past this point. 

A few minutes later and after a couple more sets of stairs, which I've now come to dread thanks to the ever-present excruciating pain pulsating up my legs, making each step up worse than walking down the paved forest road, we arrive at a long hallway. There are numerous doors, all of them identical in build. The only way to differentiate between the doors and the subsequent rooms inside is color. A color unique to each room faintly colors the curtains covering the glass parts of the sturdy wooden doors. The man leads me to one of the doors. The light shining through is much tamer than what I can see coming through the other rooms. He opens it. 

Ducking slightly under the embellished cupped curtains obscuring the door, I enter the room. My eye is instantly drawn to the sizable bed in the middle of the room. Sheer white drapes hang down from tasseled cone-shaped upper edges of the canopy bed's frame, the light material falling loosely around the bed. Next to the bed is a basin of water. The room houses all of the essentials. 

'Try not to track mud all over your room. You'll find a change of clothes in the closet,' the man says monotonously before swiftly taking his leave, closing the door carelessly behind him. 

I stare at the door for a few seconds before sitting myself down on the bed. I take off my shoes and socks and roll up my muddied pant legs to avoid messing up the surprisingly clean room. I set my ruined clothes by the door, slightly off to the side as not to further obscure the doorway. I sit in silent awe and confusion for a moment before deciding that it’d be best for me to change and sleep. My attention is drawn to the door hidden in the far corner of the room next to the window. Opening it, I find a bathroom with cracked tile flooring and a pristine white bathtub into which I plan to sink if time permits it. I close the door and head to the closet, pulling out the incredibly oversized white button-up shirt and replacing my worn-out day clothes with it. I collapse onto the bed, my journey here playing in my mind like a distant recollection, so fuzzy that it compares to an early childhood memory. Wedding invitation. Bike ride. Pond. Nightfall and shadows. Wandering back. The moonlit road. Hours of walking in the same scenery. I shake my head, blinking away the flurry of still images from my journey that occupy my mind. 

I have a suspicion that the long journey here is merely a prelude to what is to come; a small test of endurance, not only physical but also mental. 

In a notebook of my 6th-grade school assignments is numerous drawings, among them a somewhat large pencil sketch of a castle. The castle is crudely drawn and is lacking in detail — I was around eleven when I drew it. The depicted castle has a tower, not unlike the one I saw on this castle. I remember that I had imagined a large ballroom inside where the residents could host extravagant parties and gatherings. At the time, I often found myself fantasizing about staying in a castle. I used to imagine myself in a fancy and expensive gown, entering through the large front doors of the ballroom to greet the many guests who would have been waiting for the eleven-year-old me, the host, to arrive. These dreams were ambitious and naive. Now that my childhood dream has somewhat come to fruition, I feel inexplicably disappointed, not necessarily towards my spontaneous stay here, but the circumstances of my stay. 

As my mind wanders, my eyelids become heavy. I wonder if it is safe to sleep in a stranger’s home, especially if the master of the house remains anonymous. My consciousness drifts aimlessly, never focusing on one idea for long before moving on to the next thought, soon becoming slower as the time drifting between thoughts lengthens, my well-founded worry and distrust dissipating into the forgotten. 


	3. The Pink Room

**The Pink Room**

By the next morning, the pain in my legs has subsided considerably, the former pulsating pain now only a dull stinging. Sitting up, I feel spent, almost as if I hadn't slept at all — I feel as if all of the energy my body would have gained from my slumber has gone to healing my worn-out legs. I feel icky. My hair is sticking to my forehead from last night's sweat, my mouth dry almost to the point where it feels impossible to talk. My thoughts are slow and labored. I blink the hazy tiredness from my eyes, willing myself to stand up despite the aching in my muscles. 

Opening the slightly dirtied window and looking out, I find that the world outside this castle is mantled in thick fog, and the sky, which had been covered by a nearly constant veil of clouds last night, is now mostly clear, save the bank of clouds that floats above the horizon. The air is crisp, and with the damp haze of the fog. It's a new day, not much more unpleasant than the last. Although the thought of walking all the way back to Denton is beyond repulsive to me, I must get home somehow. 

After running a bath for myself, taking extra care to wash off the leftover grime from last night's trek, I pull on the same shirt I wore to bed - it was the only item of clothing in the small closet - and yesterday's jeans. I scratch at the cuffs, trying to pry off some of the dried mud to no avail. My shoes are covered in a crusty layer of mud both on the inside and outside, rendering them almost unwearable. I pick them up along with the rest of my clothes, deciding to carry them home in the hopes of being able to salvage them. 

I exit the room as quietly as I can to avoid disturbing anyone who might be staying in one of the neighboring guest rooms, closing the door behind me excruciatingly slowly, wincing at every loud creak the old door would let. The halls of the castle are much less imposing in the half-light of the day that is shining through the drawn curtains. The dark wood walls sometimes have ledges and shelves on which are many different knick-knacks and ornaments like porcelain animals or small marble busts, each of them covered by an excessive amount of spiderwebs. Soon, I take a turn leading me away from the outer walls of the castle, the halls becoming noticeably darker as the windows become more distant. My only source of light quickly becomes the yellow-tinted light coming from the fake glass flames rising from the candelabras set up regularly down the halls. I creep forwards, my bare feet padding against the carpeted floor quietly, my unease building in the lack of natural light. The deeper halls of the castle look identical to the way they were last night, so much so that I doubt I'd be able to tell the passing of time if I spent too long here. 

The halls seem to be repeating themselves, each turn greeting me with an identical hall. I become increasingly ill at ease in the old castle as I search for the staircase the hunch-backed servant had led me through last night. I curse under my breath. I'm lost.  _ Damn, damn, damn.  _ I feel panic brew within me. I push a strand of hair from my face with my trembling hand, turning another corner in the desperate search for progress. I must leave this place. I must go home. 

I open a door, and my panic fades. I'm greeted by an open room with walls covered with the same old wallpaper that I saw in the lobby, a staircase curling along the walls of the room, leaving a square space in the middle. I step into the room and lean against the railing, looking down at the bottom of the staircase. Reaching from the ground floor upwards is a metal rigging of sorts. Suspended not far down from where I stand is the elevator, which is made of the same black metal as the rigging. 

From the ground floor, I can hear muted voices. The elevator begins moving down to where it was called. Then, through a small open space, I see two figures step in, one of which is familiar. I shrink back against the door. The hunch-backed man, who was the only person she had met in the castle so far, turns in irritation towards the woman next to him. I catch a glimpse of wily curled hair, but not much else of her. The man moved quickly to press a button, then stopped. I hold my breath, not knowing why I am suddenly so keen on staying hidden. The wisest thing would be to go back the way I came from, but I quickly dismiss that idea. Opening the door would make too much noise. The man begins to speak in his nasal voice, but I cannot hear what he's saying. I edge away from the door, close enough to be able to hear what he's saying better, but the two only spoke briefly. The woman chuckles and hums at whatever the man said, her deep breathy voice projecting in the room much better than the man's quieter voice. 

There is a click as the man presses the button, the elevator steadily beginning to move upwards. The panic that has long faded comes back tenfold, a wave of nausea hitting me as I realize that the two seeing me is now inevitable.  _ What can I do?  _ My eyes dart around, finding that my option is to either climb up or down the stairs. My eyes scan the area once more, the buzzing of the elevator nearing me like a ticking clock, reminding me of my limited time. 

The hums of the elevator come closer. I don't have time to pick and choose. I begin up the stairs as quickly and quietly as I can, breathing so shallow that my lungs beg for more oxygen, feeling like they're twisting in my chest from the sudden withdrawal. I continue up, the padding from my feet almost silenced by the carpet. I reach the top of the stairs just as the elevator comes to a halt, the two figures stepping out. The woman, who I'm seeing clearly for the first time, is clad in a black dress and leather ankle-length boots. Her hair, which is beyond unruly, is open. I press myself against the wall behind me, hoping that the slight shadows will hide me. I watch them anxiously as they step off the lift, wishing with every fiber of my being that they won't turn around and see me. They make their way to the door from which I came, opening it. The woman goes in first, the man following behind her. I let out the breath I was holding, resting my hand over my heavily beating heart as I hunch over, slowly calming myself from the adrenaline rush. 

This place is unnerving, to say the least. Everything looks abandoned to the point where no one should live here, and yet these people are here. They're here, and they're serving a master who I haven't met. 

I climb down the stairs, listening intently to the silence for any sign of someone approaching, much like I did in the forest. I near the door through which the two went through, subconsciously holding my breath as I pass it, making my way down to the elevator. I slide open the manual collapsible door and step in. 

The elevator has a lot of negative space, the metal bars creating different geometrical shapes serving as the walls. Above, on the solid metal roof, there is a lamp. On the side, there is a small panel with two circular buttons, one which is a dark blue, and the other one a bright red. I assume that one of these goes up, and the other goes down. I should use this elevator to go down. I know it's somewhat silent, and it would save me some time. I close the manual door before facing the buttons again. The longer I stay here, the more likely I am to run into someone, and I would prefer to leave without a hassle. 

I press on the dark blue button, illogically deciding that blue is a more 'downwards' color. The elevator starts to move steadily, but not in the intended direction. I curse. How do I stop it? I look for another button, but I don't find one. The elevator hums as it brings me up towards the top floor. I reach to press the blue button again, but before I can, the elevator stops with a quiet squeak. The moment I glance up at the room I've ended up in, my eyes are assaulted by the color pink. 

Light pink tiles cover the curved walls, matching the pink marble floor. Marble statues of naked figures casually holding speakers are displayed in shallow, intricately carved alcoves on both sides of a dais. Opposite to the dais is a raised area resembling a balcony which can only be accessed by the sloping ramps which curl along with the walls of the room, or the white ladder in the middle. On the wall created by the raised path, there is a large red control panel with many switches, levers, and wheels. Different equations are scrawled onto the tile wall next to the panel in a matching red. Most curiously, though, on a slightly raised platform is a large object covered by silky red fabric. 

The room is empty, so who would it hurt if I were to take a peek under the tarp?

I cautiously leave the elevator and approach the covered object. I grab onto its edge, looking around once more to make sure no one is here to find that there is no other entrance other than the elevator, before moving it aside slightly. I crouch down, peeking through the small edge that I've uncovered.


	4. Behind the Ice

**Behind the Ice**   
  


A red metal frame holds a glass enclosure together. Inside, I see water. My train of thought is interrupted when I hear a crack from somewhere behind me. I turn around to find nothing out of place. My eyes glide over the control panel, the unmoving elevator, the large red metal panel on the wall, and finally the statues, to find that nothing is out of place. I turn back towards the tarp, gingerly lifting it again, this time higher. Crack. I hear the noise again, but I do not react. My eyes are glued on the tank in front of me, more specifically the bandaged figure submerged within. Three beeps rip my attention from the figure, forcing me to tear my eyes away. With a deafening crash, the large red metal panel lands flat on the floor, revealing a wall of solid ice blocks that have begun to crackle and melt. A loud revving noise comes from behind the ice wall. I turn towards the door and scramble to get up, only managing to press myself against the tank in which the bandaged figure floats, waiting anxiously for the commotion to end. All goes silent, but only for a few milliseconds before the revving starts up again, this time louder. I hear tires move against the floor before – crash – a motorcycle crashes through the ice. It comes to an abrupt halt, leaving dark skid marks on the pristine marble floor as it drifts. On it sits a plump man dressed in jeans and a bedazzled leather jacket. Covering his head is a silver chrome helmet and a pair of riding glasses. 

The man takes off his frost-covered helmet and glasses to reveal his face. His hair is long and black, styled like Elvis' but more disheveled, the tips of his hair which had previously been sticking out of his helmet also covered in frost. Running across his forehead is a fresh gash, but he pays it no mind as he dismounts his motorcycle, looking around confusedly for a moment before his eyes find me. I stare at him in shock, unable to stitch two words together in my confusion. I stand with the help of the rails of the tank, my legs shaking and bending inwards like a newborn deer. I suddenly snap out of my daze, stumbling towards him, my shock shifting to worry. 

'Oh my god- are you alright?' I ask quickly. The man blinks disorientedly before stretching his arms out, cracking his back. 

'I sure was expecting a warmer welcome,' the man says in his youthful voice, his chubby face contorting as he enunciated in his Texan accent. I don't hesitate to shush him. He ignores my attempt to quiet him, speaking loudly again. 'Who're you? I don't remember seein' you around last time I was 'ere.' 

The man leans in inspecting my face. He seems to conclude that I'm a stranger before stepping back, leaning against his bike. 

Then he goes silent, but my impression is that he's continuing to say things inside his head, because for some time his gaze roves around the place, his lips twitching along with the dialogue in his head. I'm relieved when he turns to look back at me again, a look of realization on his face. 

'He's not around, is he?' he asks. I tilt my head in response. 'Frank. He's not here?' 

'I don't know who you're on about. Is he the one who put you in there?' 

He nods. 

'Did he give you the-' I gesture at my forehead, my eyes glancing up at this cut. It isn't such a bad gash. You can see bits of skin starting to bond, but the red skin underneath doesn't stop secreting thick blood. I watch as it slowly inches down his face, now reaching his eyebrow. He gives me a daft shrug. 

This man doesn't seem to be entirely right in the head. Does he not feel the wound on his head, or at the very least feel the line of blood trickling down the side of his eyebrow? 

I'm taken out of my thoughts when I hear a familiar hum. I whip my head to the side to look at the elevator to find it steadily moving down, the top nearing the floor. I run towards it. No, no, no. I fall to my knees, watching the top of the elevator descending even lower. This is all his fault, making such a racket. I look at him, a fierce glare in my eyes, but I cannot see him clearly. Frustrated tears stream down my cheeks as I clench my fists.

'You!- You had to be so loud! Now someone's coming!' I whisper-shout at him accusingly as I stand once more, approaching him surely. The man looks slightly taken aback, but the clueless look soon returns to his face. 

I huff, struggling to keep my breathing steady as I try to think. I feel like a cornered animal. Surely, the servants of the house wouldn't have had such an issue with me silently leaving, but I'm not sure how they'd react to me sneaking around where I have no business. 

The elevator begins rapidly making its way up, this time with someone on board. I grab the man by his leather jacket's cheetah printed collar, dragging him behind the large tank. Hiding isn't going to do much since the stranger's motorbike is parked right in the middle of the room, but I'm hoping it'll prolong the inevitable. 

Everything suddenly becomes silent, the noise of the elevator coming to an abrupt stop. No matter how hard I try, I can still hear my breathing among the silence. The man sits idly, tapping a fast beat on his knee surprisingly quietly. He doesn't make eye contact. 

After what feels like minutes, the silence is broken by the clicking of heels. The steps approach the tank, but stop in front of it. I can hear an irritated sign come from somewhere vaguely on the other side of the tank. The sound of high-heels against the marble floor echoes throughout the large room. 

'Oh, Eddie!' a deep posh voice calls out almost mockingly. The deep baritone voice undoubtedly belongs to a man. 'I'm not in the mood for games.'

I notice the man, Eddie, tense as the person in heels begins walking. He looks at me, his eyes widened and with an indecipherable look on his face. Wordlessly, he digs through his jacket pockets and hands me a folded piece of paper. Unfortunately, digging through the pocket caused rustling, which seems to have alerted whoever it is who's searching for him. A deep chuckle sounds from somewhere in the room as I hear confident strides being taken in our direction. Eddie lets out a scream, but I do not wait to see what he's reacting to. I bolt. I don't look to see if Eddie is following, I can only hear his repeating screams. I scrunch the paper in my fist as I shut the elevator doors, breathing heavily. His screams suddenly stop. Eddie is nowhere in sight. Behind the tank, where Eddie and I were hiding mere moments ago, I see someone stand up straight. He walks out from behind the tank before stopping in his tracks, his eyes focusing on me. I press the button to go down. The man doesn't move. Grasped in his gloved hands in an ice pick covered in blood – Eddie's blood. 

I've never seen anyone like him. He stands tall in his peep-toe heels, his legs nearly bare with their slightly ripped fishnet stockings. He wears almost nothing, the only things keeping him decent being a black sequin corset with shoulder straps and a pair of black satin underwear lined at the hip with a garter belt. Around his neck is a tacky pearl necklace. His face is twisted with shock, his eyes, which are surrounded by heavy makeup, wide open. Right before the elevator takes me out of his sight, I see his shock turn into disdain, his eyebrows falling and his lined lipstick-covered lips pursing into a frown. I hear the slow clicking of heels, but I can no longer see him. 

I tap my bare foot against the cold metal floor of the elevator as I wait anxiously for the elevator to reach the ground floor. I half-mindedly clench my fists as I worry about Eddie. I just met him, but I can't help but feel dread over the terrible fate he's probably met. As I squeeze my fist shut, I feel the paper scrunch. The paper! The one Eddie handed me mere seconds before the man found us. The one that inadvertently led him to his demise. I unravel it. 

My back slams against the frame of the elevator as the letter drops to the ground facing up. I clasp my hand over my mouth to stifle my shriek. On the letter, written in blood, reads: 

'I'm out of my hed. O hurry or I may be dead. They mustn't carry out their evil deeds. Love, Eddie.' 

I'm clearly not the intended recipient of the letter. 

My first instinct is to deny it, the existence of these 'evil deeds' Eddie warned about in his letter, and just to laugh. But there was real sincerity and dread in Eddie's eyes right before he handed me this letter, although I didn't know him well enough to read him. He had acted like a buffoon earlier, ditzy and unaware, but in that instance he was serious. So in the end I stay silent, while my mind searches desperately through the multitude of reasons to disregard Eddie's letter, but with a cold horror, finding no way to look past the man with the ice pick. Whatever excuse my brain found to back up writing off Eddie's claims was contradicted by who I presume to be the man, Frank, that Eddie had previously spoken of. Had I not found myself in that strange pink room, I would be able to leave unburdened. 

The elevator stops at a floor below where the staircase ends, and within milliseconds, I swing open the door, grab Eddie's letter, and run out. As I expected, I find myself in an unfamiliar area of the castle. The decor is the same as I assume it is throughout the majority of the castle, with few differences other than the shape and utility of the room. I don't have time to stand around feeling remorseful. I choose one out of the three doors in front of me, walking through with a fervor to get out that I didn't previously have. 

The hallway I've walked into is familiar, not only by the gothic decor I've grown tired of, but by the staircase wrapping along the side of the room, and most importantly, the large double door with tall decorative glass windows.  _ I found it. I found it!  _

I push open the first doors, followed by the heavy wooden front door, stepping out into the foggy morning air. 

  
  



	5. Man's Best Friend

**Man's Best Friend**

My bare feet slam painfully against the ground, sticks and small rocks dig into my skin with every running step I take. My adrenaline lets me ignore the pain as I continue running down the path to the large metal gate and the long road lit by the attenuated autumn sun. Everything is chilly and fresh and dangerous, and my mind is telling me to leave and to run faster than I can, as if someone had told me the forest was full of hungry wolves. Fog weaves through the spaces between the trees as I spring past. I can hear distant birdsong, and somewhere closer a dog barks twice. The gate, it's right there. Behind it is the road. The dog barks again, followed by a chorus of more barks. Glancing behind myself, I find a pack of dogs – German Shepherds – quickly gaining on me. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._ My feet carry me forwards at a pace that my body can't seem to keep up with, causing me to stumble and trip over myself, yet by some miracle, I manage to stay on my feet. That is until I feel one of the large dogs pounce onto me, harshly knocking me down into the dirt. My eyes fill to the brim with tears of both pain and stress. I'm nearly passing out, lying on the ground, dirty from all of the mud and sweat, pulsing with adrenaline. The dog that brought me down stops in front of me. I look up at its snarling face, its growl piercing the morning air. The rest of the dogs circle me defensively, their heads low as they wait to attack. I stay still, afraid that a single movement would trigger them.

Suddenly, one of the dogs launches forward, its teeth on full display as it aims for my neck but bites into the arm I swing in front of my face in hopes of shielding myself. It's canines rip through the skin of my right forearm, its premolars holding my arm in place as its posterior teeth grind into my arm's tissue. My scream gets caught in my throat as my whole body tenses, my back arching so that all I can see is the clear blue sky above me. Then it comes – the scream. It's ear piercing, echoing through the empty nature of the woodlands around me, the harsh rasp in my voice tearing my vocal cords as I writhe in the numbing pain. Time seems to slow as the dog draws its head back to begin shaking.

'Stand down,' a voice commands. Time begins to move again.

The dog's teeth remain clamped on my arm as the rest stop, still ready to attack if need be. Its eyes burn with an unholy light as it stares at its master. It looks terrifying. Then, it lets go.

Blood pours out of my massacred arm, seeping into the dirt and soon pooling beneath me. I lay there, quiet from shock. The silence around me becomes louder. The fog itself seems to be screaming, a loud hum that's similar to tinnitus begins to ring in my ears. It's a terrible echoing, sustained sounds, as if the pain pulsating up my arm had suddenly become audible. It swells into an unbearable dissonance, soon overtaking any sound that may exist beside it.

Pain. It soon creeps through my body, but this time tenfold as I try to move my lacerated arm to no avail. Through the ringing pain, I somehow hear the crunching of heels against the dirt, strolling their way towards me. I do not need to look to know who it is.

'Magenta, Riff Raff. Bring the human back to the castle and treat her wounds,' the familiar baritone voice says calmly. Two figures approach me, carelessly lifting me up.

The blue sky spins above me, a black vignette appearing at the edges of my vision, soon expanding as I blink disorientedly. My body briefly feels like it's falling before I lose all feeling and consciousness.

_My head hurts. I can't move. Why is it so bright in here?_ I move my arm to shield my eyes from the dimmed rays of sunlight shining onto my face, only to drop it back down quickly as I feel a sudden bout of pain and stinging erupt throughout my arm, fading as my arm falls limply back onto the soft surface. _Dogs. There were dogs. One bit me._ I begin to remember what happened. _I passed out._

My eyes flutter open to find a canopy above me, sunlight shining weakly through the sheer fabric. My arm is wrapped haphazardly in wound dressing. I feel a mildly uncomfortable pull coming from some parts of my arm as I slowly shift it from side to side, cautiously making sure I can still move it. It's a miracle that I'm still alive, the miracle not being surviving the dog attack, but those people keeping me alive. It makes me wonder why I've been granted this mercy and not Eddie. I sit up, my thoughts lingering on Eddie and his fate, and how the naive part of me thinks that there might still be a chance that he's alive but heavily injured. I shake my head, dismissing the notion. I stand, my feet and legs tingling from not being used for however long I've been sleeping, and walk to the dresser. Inside, there is a white satin bathrobe. I grab it, draping it over my left forearm as my right falls limply at my side, and walk to the door to peek out.

There it is, the same dreaded hallway I started from, but luckily there's no one in sight.

I return into the room and draw a bath for myself, deciding to wash off the grime and dried blood from my body. The water begins to rush out of the tap, soon covering the bottom of the tub. I sit down next to the bathtub, draping my body over the side limply. My head is pounding, each thought slurring in my head as I wait for the tub to fill. My right hand, the injured one, hangs over the edge, feeling the temperature of the water as it inches towards the top. In moments like these, it's easy to forget that I'm not alone, nor am I safe, but there's nothing else I can do other than patiently waiting for my chance to leave, and in the meantime, I might as well draw a bath for myself. I rub my scratched sore legs with my uninjured hand, hoping it'll soothe the muscles.

The water eventually fills the bath, my arm now falling to my side again as I stand up and strip myself of my clothes and slowly lowering myself into the slightly too hot water. I sigh as the water submerges me, surrounding everything from my collarbones to the tips of my toes, save my injured arm, which I rest on the edge of the tub. My cuts sting, but I decide not to pay them any mind. My body tingles with its newfound warmth. I didn't realize how cold I was until now. The air isn't anything like the crisp morning air I had breathed when I tried to escape, it's searingly dry and stale, yet still numbingly cold. It's so silent.

Eventually, the water loses its warmth, and the dirt and dried blood from my body mix with the once-clean water creating a grimy soup. I slowly lift myself out of the tub, shivering at the chilly air hitting my wet body. I wrap a towel around myself and leave the room. My arm, although still aching in minor pain, feels much more numb now that I've stopped paying attention to it. Between the wound dressing and my arm I can feel hard bits of dried blood. The deep lacerations left by the dog's canine teeth feel stiff, a fresh scab starting to form over it slowly.

A careless knock takes me out of my thoughts. Behind the glass windows on the door, I see a silhouette of a person. In comes a woman. I'm taken aback the moment I see her. I don't know where to look first, her short bright-red hair, her painted-on eyebrows and heavy makeup, or her ostentatiously bedazzled bustier and multicolored striped shorts. Draped over her arm are some darkly colored clothes. I look at her, not a single thought managing to pass through my head. Then she speaks.

In a shrill and ear-piercing voice she says: 'Ah! You're up!' She struts into the room energetically with a hospitable smile that's just a little bit too wide to be sincere. 'I clearly came at the right time,' she jokes, surveying me.

'Wh- wh-' I sputter, unable to string together a single word as I clutch the towel tightly to my chest, making sure it doesn't fall.

'Put these on. Dinner is almost ready, and you'd hate to be late. The master is rarely this...' she pauses, 'hospitable.'

She tosses the clothes at me, but I am unable to catch them, seeing as my only working hand is busy keeping my towel up. She chuckles before turning back on her heels, swiftly making her way back to the door.

'Come out when you're ready. I'll show you the way to the dining room. This place is a little bit of a maze,' she tells me, a strange sense of sincerity laced with her voice. She leaves the room. 


	6. Dinner is Served

**Dinner is Served**

Dressed in a pair of short-shorts and an ever so slightly ill-fitting tank top, I exit the room clumsily stumbling in the spare shoes –a pair of black satin heels that are a size too large– and find the woman waiting outside. She's leaning against the door opposite to mine, tapping on the wooden frame impatiently. When she sees me, her face lights up. She grabs me by the arm before abruptly starting down the hallway, dragging me along towards wherever the dining room is. She brings me down a few twists and turns, up and down a few stairs, and through a few doors. With each turn, I begin to wonder how she remembers the way. Soon, her pace slows. Despite not having eyebrows other than the ones painted far above where her's would naturally be, I see the worry on her face, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed. She stays composed, her steps cheery and dancerly, almost skipping down the hallway.

'Y'know,' she begins, her voice slightly lower and more somber, yet still equally ear-piercing, 'I remember the first time I brought Eddie down these halls.'

I tense when I hear his name. I think of asking her how she knows the boy, but I decide against it. 

'I don't bring him down here anymore, though. Things have gone cold between us recently.'

'Did you know him well?' I ask uneasily, my voice slightly croaky from sleep. She glances at me before shrugging.

'Yeah, I'd say so,' she answers casually, her voice pitching back up to where it was when she first entered my room.

Silence falls between us again, but this time it isn't comfortable. The air is heavy and nervous and inexplicably tense. The woman isn't easy to read, but her worry is evident on her face and in her fidgeting movements. The silence stretches out for only a few seconds before she breaks it.

For the first time in the nearly ten minutes I've known her, her voice drops and becomes much airier, the nasal tone remaining but becoming much less prominent. Her steps slow before she comes to a stop, her hand still grasping my arm tightly. Her eyes fall to the floor.

'Is- Is he okay?' she asks quietly. I stop, freezing in place. My mouth hangs open as I scour my mind for something to say, but to no avail.

'I-' I think of lying, of coming up with something, but it seems cruel. Telling this girl a lie or the sugar coated truth would almost be as cruel as what happened to Eddie. 'I don't know for sure. There- There was blood.'

She breathes in sharply, holding it in for a few seconds before breathing out slowly. Her eyes water slightly but she manages to suppress the tears from falling.

'Before we were found, Eddie handed me a note,' I tell her, hoping it'll somehow cheer her up. Her eyes dart to mine, the distant look of surprise on her face. She quickly wipes her under eyes with her hands, suddenly perking up.

'A note?' she inquires, her voice now regaining its shrill quality. Her grip on my arm tightens as she leans in.

'Yes, I had it on me when I-' I look back at my failed escape, remembering clearly that I was clutching the letter in my hand as I ran. 'I had it when I ran, but I don't know what happened to it after I passed out. It could be in my room.'

She nods energetically with determination, desperation, and a sadistic sort of hope in her eyes. She lets go of my arm and begins down the hallway, stopping in her tracks before she gets too far. She looks at me, straight in the eyes this time.

She simply says: 'Take a left and you'll see a big door. You can't miss it.' Then she's gone.

She was right. After taking a left, I find myself passing yet another winding staircase. Right next to it is a large set of dark wooden double doors. Through the small glass panels, I can see the flickering of candlelight. I can faintly hear some hushed chatter from the other side of the door followed by some footsteps. I gingerly push open one of the doors. The moment the door opens, the chatter stops.

Inside, I find the hunchbacked man who greeted me when I first rang the doorbell of the castle. Next to him, pushing a metal cart stacked with food, is a vaguely familiar woman. It would be hard to forget those unruly locks of hair. It's the woman who was in the elevator with the hunchbacked man. This is my first time clearly seeing her deadpan face, her heavy makeup making her features impossible not to notice. Her eyes look at me blankly, her deep red lips curling in a slightly sour smile. At the end of the table, sitting with a straight back and looking almost regal, is the man who I saw beat Eddie, the man who called off the dogs. His heavily beat* face is emotionless, his painted eyebrows raised as he waits for me to enter. I step in.

'Riff Raff, see that our guest is well taken care of,' he says, his familiar baritone voice sending shivers of abject fear down my spine. The hunchbacked man, Riff Raff, steps forward and pulls out the chair opposite to the master of the house. 'Magenta, go retrieve Columbia,' he commands with distaste evident in his voice. The woman walks off.

The man stands up when I approach the empty seat, taking a few steps towards me. I back up until my back hits the door. His dark lips part into a smile, the edges of his mouth quirking up uniquely. He holds out his right hand for a handshake, looking at me expectantly. I stare at him for a moment, my breath caught in my throat, unable to move a muscle. When I try to move my arm to shake his hand, I feel a sudden stinging pain ferociously erupt up my arm, causing me to let out an injured yelp. The man's eyebrows rise in surprise as he glances at my right arm, noticing the bloodstained bandaging. He chuckles, taking his hand back.

'Oh, silly me,' he remarks, his tone strangely playful. I watch him, finding myself unable to predict a single move he makes. He's spontaneous and almost impossible to read, and as I've witnessed, he's dangerous. He gives me another smile as he lowers himself onto his seat, gesturing at my seat. 'Please, sit.'

I sit down, my eyes never leaving his. I can't look away, I feel like if I were to look away, he'd do something. I don't know what. I can't read him at all. His eyes are cold but calculating, yet he oozes charisma. My mind screams _danger. Danger. Danger. Get away._ But I stay put.

Silence. It's nearly deafening. Riff Raff lazily piles food onto our plates, carelessly pouring red wine into our glasses, not caring about the copious amount of spilling. The master of the house, I remember Eddie referred to him as Frank, begins to eat. I look down at my plate to find some mash and some meat. My stomach growls, but I have no appetite.

'Frank. That's your name, right?' I ask, gaining some courage. His eyes dart to mine.

'I'm surprised. Eddie must have told you much,' he says suspiciously, his voice dripping with venom. His eyes search mine, looking for something. I stay silent, having no more information to add on. 'You've been wandering around the castle, finding your way into places where you have no business. Say, how did you happen upon my laboratory?'

I know he's fishing for something, waiting for me to trip up, but I don't know what exactly it is that he's looking for.

'I was looking for the exit,' I tell him vaguely.

'Yet you found yourself going up the highest tower in the castle,' he replies easily, his eyes staying occupied to his meal. When I begin to answer, his eyes drift back to me.

'I got lost and tried to use your elevator, but neither of the buttons were marked,' I try to explain. He looks at me doubtfully.

'And you couldn't wait for one of the servants to escort you out? Were you truly lost or do you harbor a hidden agenda?' he asks, his tone sharp and slightly spiteful. He sips his wine, setting it down and giving me all of his attention. He places his hands on top of each other onto the table.

My breath hitches as his eyes bore into me. The words get caught in my throat. I don't know what he's implying.

'The man,' I begin, watching him closely for a reaction, 'in the vat.'

There it is. He straightens his tilted head ever so slightly. 'I assume I was not supposed to see him.'

His shoulders relax and he smiles, but this time it isn't malicious, but sly and assured, an air of pride in it. 'Say, what did you think of him?' he asks casually. His whole demeanor has shifted and become much less guarded, his hand traveling back to his wineglass to take another sip.

His question catches me off guard. 'What did I think of him?' I repeat. He simply raises an eyebrow, waiting for my response. 'I'm not quite sure.'

He purses his lips, looking dissatisfied.

Not wanting to upset him, I say: 'I didn't really get a good look at him. I don't really understand it.'

His proud smile returns. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, the door opens again, and the woman who brought me here, Columbia, struts in. I turn around, her eyes catching mine. I look at her, mouthing a few words to her to ask if she found the letter, but she shakes her head, sitting down at the table with her shoulders dropped and her eyes low. Frank, no known last name, looks at her from the corner of his eye. Riff Raff throws some food to her plate before stepping back, standing beside Magenta. He doesn't pay her any mind, returning back to his meal. Columbia starts poking at her food with her utensils, every now and again picking up a piece of meat and eating it.

I pay attention to my arm, worrying about infection and broken bones, feeling the pulsating of my heartbeat in my veins, the slight tingling of my nerves at the ends of my fingers. I think about home, the slightly uncomfortable futon bed, the shower that takes slightly too long to heat up, the large window looking out onto the streets of Denton, the wedding invitation sitting untouched on my desk, they all feel so distant. I long for home. I long to look upon houses and people, anything but the tall trees that surround the castle. I feel homesick, despite only being gone for a few days.

I raise my eyes to look at Frank.

'I want to go home.'

_*Beat (Beat face): When the makeup applied to a person's face is so powerful and amazing that it makes them look truly stunning / When one's makeup is heavily applied._


End file.
